


Raising the Dead

by oldenuf2nb



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Comedy, Dom/sub, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-War, Public Sex, Rimming, Romance, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-25
Updated: 2007-09-25
Packaged: 2018-10-27 16:24:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10812624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldenuf2nb/pseuds/oldenuf2nb
Summary: Harry and Ron are working for the Auror’s Department, and while sitting a stake out in an unlikely location, have a meaningful conversation and find a way to pass the time.





	Raising the Dead

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** **DISCLAIMER** : I don’t own them. Wish I did, but, more’s the pity….
> 
>  **A/N:** This is for Wolfie, Kosh, Brumeux and all of the other fan-men (You know who you are!) who I’ve met and loved and would like to add to my f-list! Cheers, guys!

  
Author's notes:

**WORD COUNT:** 5100 words

**SUMMARY:** Harry and Ron are working for the Auror’s Department, and while sitting a stake out in an unlikely location, have a meaningful conversation and find a way to pass the time. 

**DISCLAIMER** : I don’t own them. Wish I did, but, more’s the pity….

 

  


**A/N:** **This is for Wolfie, Kosh, Brumeux and all of the other fan-men (You know who you are!) who I’ve met and loved and would like to add to my f-list! Cheers, guys!**

 

 

Written for **"The Totally Smutty BestMeats Epilogue Challenge**  
for which it won the "Naughtiest Place to Shag" award. "Thank you, members of the Academy. I'd like to thank Harry and Ron for the 'unflagging enthusiam'... *sniff* 

And special thanks to my beloved beta, Iamaghost, of whom I am justifiably proud! Love ya, toots. 

* * *

**  
**

** RAISING THE DEAD **

 

 

The fog clung to the ground, shrouding the sparse dry grass, swirling and moving around the ancient gravestones like wraiths. The black rod iron fence that surrounded the burial ground gleamed with drops of moisture that clung like glistening black jewels to the metal. The air felt thick, and heavy. It was dark, cold, and all but silent save for the water dripping from the gnarled, bare limbs of the overhanging poplar trees. For the two men who sat huddled behind one of the larger above ground sarcophagi, it was just bloody miserable. The slightly larger of the two, his fiery hair covered by a black knit stocking cap, turned his head and glanced toward the ruins of an abandoned church that loomed behind the graveyard. It still appeared completely deserted and he sighed and turned back, his shoulders pressed against the cold white marble.

“Think this might have been a bum tip,” he said softly, glancing to the side. His companion had no need to cover his hair: black as a raven’s wing, it swallowed the light. But when he rolled his head to the side and looked at him, the eyes behind the round lenses of his glasses were brilliant green even in the near darkness.

“What time is it?” Harry Potter asked, pulling his heavy black wool robes more closely around his muscular body. Small clouds of steamy vapor appeared as he spoke, hovering before his lips. Ron Weasley looked at his Muggle wrist watch, a present from Harry the Christmas before.

“Nearly three,” he answered, his own breath visible. “Didn’t Yaxley say that the meet was scheduled for two thirty?”

Harry nodded, lifting slightly to look over the marble tomb towards the crumbling ruins, but still only darkness met his gaze. “Maybe they got tipped off,” he said as he settled again onto the cold ground.

“Maybe they changed their minds because it’s just so fucking cold.” Ron hunched his shoulders and slipped his raw boned hands into the pockets of his robes, but still he shivered. Harry took in the shudder that ran the length of his long body, and reached into an interior pocket, removing a small silver flask.

“Here, this’ll help.” He held it out to the other man, who eyed it warily.

“What is it?” he asked, reaching out tentatively.

“Just Old Ogden’s,” Harry answered, rubbing his own hands together before tucking them under his arms. “But go easy on it,” he warned just as Ron started to take a sip. “You know what a light weight you are.”

Ron scowled, but took a moderate sip, then inhaled through his nose harshly. “Jesus, Harry, how strong is this?”

“180 proof,” Harry answered, taking the flask from Ron’s extended hand and taking a rather larger drink himself. The aged firewhiskey burned his mouth, his throat, and left a pleasant tingling warmth all the way to his empty belly. They’d been sent on this stakeout at the last minute, on a tip from a former Death Eater who now worked as an informant, and had left a lovely dinner go to waste on the dining room table at their home at Number 12 Grimmauld Place in London. They’d gone to the Ministry when they’d been flooed with information at just past eight, Apparated from the Aurors office at near to ten, and now, nearly five hours later, they sat huddled on the almost frozen ground in an abandoned church yard just outside of Aberdeen. _“Ah, the glamorous life of an Auror,”_ Harry thought wryly, not for the first time, and took another swig of the potent liquor before passing the flask back to Ron.

“So, how long do you suppose we have to sit here?” Ron huffed, shifting uncomfortably. “My bits are freezing.”

The corner of Harry’s mouth lifted in a wry grin. “Now, we can’t have that,” he said jauntily. “I’ve a real appreciation for your bits.” 

Ron rolled his blue eyes, but his lips twitched. He bumped Harry’s shoulder with his own before taking another sip from the cool metal flask and handing it back. Their fingers brushed, and he felt a sweet tingling in his hand. Silence fell for a few minutes, broken only by the _plop_ of fat drops of water onto a nearby gravestone. Ron scooted a bit closer to Harry’s hard side, shivering a bit. 

“You really are cold,” Harry said, pocketing the flask after another healthy swallow. He could feel a low buzz at the base of his skull, which he was able to credit to the lack of food in his system. 

“It’s not that,” Ron admitted a bit reluctantly. 

“What, then?”

“This place is dead creepy, mate,” he said breathlessly, crossing his arms over his chest and peering around through the darkness, brows lowered. “I don’t like cemeteries.”

Harry turned his head and looked at Ron’s profile. “For Christ’s sake Ron, you went to school with a castle full of ghosts, and grew up with a ghoul in the attic of your house. How much worse could a graveyard be?”

Ron shot him a dark look. “It’s not the same,” he grumbled. “The castle ghosts wanted to be there, and the ghoul wasn’t a bad sort>[bjb1] ,really. In fact, after he pretended he was me and even let himself be hit with Spattergroit, I felt right charitable about him.” He stared out over the tombs and angled stones again, and the wisps of fog that, in the darkness, resembled shifting spirits. “There’s right nasty stuff lingering in graveyards, Harry. Especially Muggle ones this old.”

Harry stared, about to make another flippant remark, when he saw how tense Ron looked, how white his skin appeared in the near darkness. He really was scared, and Harry felt a moment of regret for teasing him. “Come here,” he said gruffly, lifting his arm. Ron turned his head and peered at him through the darkness. “Come here, you git. The least we can do is keep each other warm.”

Ron hesitated only a moment longer, and then scooted more firmly into Harry’s side. When Harry dropped his arm around his broad shoulders, Ron didn’t even attempt to stop the soft sigh that fell from his lips, and after a moment, he lay his head on Harry’s hard shoulder. 

“We aren’t going to be worth shite tomorrow,” he said softly, sighing again when Harry rested his temple against the top of his head. “And Ginny is going to kill us.” Harry grunted, his only reply. Ron chewed his lower lip. “Is it going to be weird for you, you know…?”

Harry didn’t answer for a long moment. When he did, his voice seemed to rumble in his broad chest. “Was it weird for you, when Hermione got married?”

Ron’s brow furrowed and his lips pursed when he thought about it. “A bit,” he admitted. “But I think that had more to do with the groom than the fact that she was getting married.”

Harry chuckled. “He’s not so bad.”

Ron sighed. “I know. I mean, he grows on you. But did they have to name that kid Scorpius? Honestly.”

Harry grunted in amusement. “I think that was Narcissa’s idea.”

Ron laughed softly. “I do like the idea that Hermione’s kids are calling Narcissa Malfoy ‘Grammie’.”

“Actually,” Harry said, his voice trembling with suppressed laughter, “the first time little Dora called Lucius ‘Poppy’ was my favorite moment.”

They laughed together quietly, it slowly fading away to companionable silence. It lasted for a few minutes, while they appreciated the warmth spreading along the sides that were pressed together.

“You never did answer my question, you know,” Ron finally reminded Harry tentatively. He felt more than heard Harry’s resigned sigh. It was another long moment before he spoke. 

“The only reason it might be…awkward is that I know that your mum is a bit…” He let his voice trail off.

Ron grimaced. “I know. She thinks I stole you from Ginny.”

Harry leaned back and looked over into Ron’s face. “Did she say that?”

Ron shook his head, his eyes pensive as he stared into the night. “She didn’t have to. You know mum; she can speak volumes without saying a word.”

“Then it’s time for me to have a chat with her, I guess.”

“Harry,” Ron protested softly, eyes turning back.

“No,” Harry retorted firmly. “In point of fact, I stole you from Hermione. And Ginny is in love with Neville, not me. Has been since they restarted the DA during Nev’s last year. Molly needs to get over it.”

Ron turned his face into Harry’s neck, pressed his nose against the warm skin just beneath his ear, savoring the feeling of Harry’s dark waves against his forehead, the faint lingering scent of the aftershave he’d used that morning. “She will, as soon as Ginny starts popping out little Longbottoms.” He pressed a soft kiss to the smooth skin, and felt Harry inhale sharply. “It doesn’t matter, as long as you don’t care…”

Harry curled his arm in and wrapped his hand around Ron’s forehead, pulling him back a bit to look into the blue eyes. “I don’t,” he said softly, green eyes level, calm, filled with an emotion that made Ron’s heart feel full. “I haven’t in a long time. I haven’t since you pulled me out of the frozen pond in the middle of the woods…” He lifted his other hand and gently touched Ron’s cheek with the back of his knuckles. “It was always you, you know,” he said softly, his eyes caressing what his fingers were touching. “I just didn’t realize that I was dating the wrong Weasley.”

Ron bit his lower lip for a moment, his blue eyes wide. “You remember, on your seventeenth? When Ginny pulled you into her bedroom, and I sort of…”

“Interrupted,” Harry provided for him with a wry smile. “Yeah.”

“It wasn’t about the fact that you’d broken up with her and shouldn’t have been snogging her, you know.”

“Yes,” Harry said gently. “I know.”

Ron reached up and covered Harry’s hand with his, squeezed the fingers that were so much warmer than his own. “I thought my concerned brother bit was inspired.”

Harry grinned, and his teeth flashed white in the moonlight. “It was. I believed it for a long time.”

“Hell, I believed it!” Ron said with a gruff chuckle. “Gods, I was thick.”

Harry’s smile mellowed. “No thicker than me. I believed it right up until you followed me into that empty classroom after the final battle and backed me into the teacher’s desk.”

Ron pursed his lips. “Now, wait just a minute. I seem to remember _you_ backing _me_ into that desk….”

Harry shrugged, the slight smile still clinging to his lips. “Whichever. The point is,” he went on, dropping their joined hands to Ron’s chest beneath his robes, flattening Ron’s palm over his own heart, “that I don’t regret it now, and I won’t regret it. Ever. It’s you, Ron. It’s always been you. It just took me a while to figure it out.”

Ron studied the green eyes that were now so much closer to his own, took in the long thick black lashes, the gracefully arched brows, and wondered for about the thousandth time how someone so beautiful could want him. There wasn’t time to ponder if further, however, because Harry closed the distance between them and covered Ron’s full, slightly parted lips with his own.

Harry’s lips felt warm, and mobile, and Ron exhaled gently into the open mouth as he felt slightly calloused fingers skim softly down the side of his face, then drop beneath his jaw to spread on the skin of his neck. Harry’s thumb gently stroked his chin, then pressed in to open Ron’s mouth further as his tongue swept forward. Ron tasted the firewhiskey, and the unmistakable flavor that was Harry’s alone. He touched his tongue against the one sliding in his mouth, then sucked on it gently. Knowing what that did to Harry, he wasn’t surprised when he grunted deep in his throat. He shifted then, leaning across Ron’s body, pressing him against the cold marble with his chest as he angled his head and deepened the kiss.

For long minutes, their lips melded and moved in the dim light, the only sound the occasional soft sigh or the random gasp for air when their lips parted briefly. Ron lifted his arm around Harry’s sturdy neck; Harry let the hand on Ron’s chest slide slowly down to rest on his flat belly. When he insinuated it under the hem of Ron’s black jumper and slid it up to caress Ron’s ribs, Ron pulled his lips back and sighed softly. Harry’s lips skimmed his throat, nipping gently at his jugular as his hand moved up further, and when his thumb skimmed one of Ron’s hardened nipples, he arched.

“Jesus, Harry,” Ron gasped, “do you think…this is a…” His breath hitched audibly when a thumbnail teased sensitive flesh. “What if someone comes?”

“I’m rather counting on that,” Harry answered wryly, and Ron felt him smile against his neck. Ron reached up and flattened Harry’s wayward palm over his broad, flat pectoral muscle and held it still, and Harry lifted his head to look into his eyes. 

“What if someone comes?” He repeated. 

“I don’t care,” Harry answered, his eyes calm.

“You should,” Ron argued, still clutching the hand through the thick layer of knitted fabric. “You’re the head of the bloody Auror department.”

“And we’re the only bloody Aurors stupid enough to be sitting in a wet graveyard at three in the fucking morning,” Harry countered mildly, then leaned in and brushed the tip of Ron’s nose with his. “Relax,” he whispered, brushing in the other direction, and then tugging on Ron’s upper lip with his teeth. Ron gasped as he released it with a soft __pop_._ “No one is coming. Except maybe us, if we’re lucky.”

“That may very well be the corniest line you’ve ever used.” Ron’s eyes rolled closed when Harry chuckled, then nuzzled his cheek, then the line of his jaw. “If no one is coming,” he breathed, pausing when he felt Harry’s teeth skim his chin, “then why don’t we take this someplace warm?”

“Because,” Harry said reasonably, even while his lips moved down Ron’s throat. His breath on Ron’s skin made the redhead break out in gooseflesh and his jeans feel snug at the groin. “…we can’t leave yet. Procedure dictates that a stakeout must last at least six hours. Besides,” his palm slid down over the silky skin of Ron’s abdomen to the waistband of his denims, “…this is sexy.”

Ron snorted. “Sexy? You think snogging in a graveyard is sexy?” 

“Mmmhmmm,” Harry hummed against his neck, his hand dropping lower now to caress Ron’s erection through the thick fabric of his trousers. He made an amused sound. “And apparently, Mr. Weasley,” his tongue slid up Ron’s throat until his mouth was right next to Ron’s ear, “so do you.” His hot breath made Ron shudder, and his fingers slid sinuously over the shape of Ron’s trapped cock. “You’re hard, love.” 

“It’s…” Ron had to pause to dampen his lips, “it’s your bloody hands.” He gasped when Harry squeezed him.

“It’s more than my hands, Ron.”

And with that he captured Ron’s lips in an open-mouthed kiss that was both fiercely gentle and ravaging at the same time, and Ron knew he was lost. But then, when Harry started kissing him, and moving his hands on him, he had always been and would always be completely and utterly lost. He didn’t even bother to protest when he felt Harry open his trousers and slide his surprisingly warm hand beneath his y-fronts to take him in a solid grip. A few firm strokes, and Ron’s cock was so hard it ached, and he bit his lip to stifle a moan. 

He heard Harry mutter something under his breath, and gasped when he felt the tingling affects of the cleansing spell. Harry’s ability to do wandless magic always impressed Ron, but right now he was a bit more preoccupied with Harry’s hand on his dick, and the significance of that particular spell on that particular location.

“On your knees, Weasley,” he said with more than a touch of humor, “facing the tomb, if you please.”

“Harry, you can’t be serious,” Ron argued weakly. In response, Harry leaned back and straightened gracefully to his own knees, then slipped his hands under Ron’s arms and lifted him bodily as well. Ron barely had time to marvel, once again, at the strength in the lithe form when he was wrapped in long arms and pulled snuggly against Harry’s hard body. Ron’s trousers slid down his hips, his bare cock pressed against the erection that was still trapped inside of Harry’s black wool slacks. One of Harry’s large hands slid down Ron’s back beneath his heavy robes, his thumb catching on jeans and y-fronts to drag them even lower, then skimmed back up, long fingers sliding between hard thighs and tautly muscled arse cheeks. When he pressed in and slid those same fingers up and over the sensitive, puckered entrance to Ron’s body, Ron shuddered, his head falling back.

“I am,” Harry said, punctuating his words with nips of his teeth on Ron’s cheekbone and jaw, “completely serious. Now turn around.” 

Ron swallowed heavily and didn’t move for a moment, but when Harry gripped his shoulders firmly and turned him manually, he didn’t argue. Nor did he protest when Harry placed a hand between his shoulder blades and pressed. He leaned forward, hands gripping the edge of the cold sarcophagus, and bit his lip when he felt Harry tug his robes free from where they were trapped beneath his knees and almost gently fold then back until they lay bunched at the base of his spine. Cold air swirled over his bare arse cheeks and he flinched, until he felt two large, warm hands sliding sinuously over the exposed skin. He felt a bit dizzy, and he didn’t know if it was the firewhiskey, which seemed to be buzzing gently through his veins, or knowing that Harry was staring at his bare bum.

“You,” Harry growled, leaning forward to nip Ron’s right arse cheek with those teasing teeth, “have got the most amazing arse. So firm,” his hands squeezed, and Ron clenched his eyes shut, pulling his lower lip between his teeth, “so round. So bloody gorgeous.” He felt another skim of teeth, on his left cheek this time. Ron felt himself being spread, and dropped his head forward, his eyes still tightly closed. “Good enough to eat, Ron.”

Lights exploded behind Ron’s closed lids when he felt Harry’s mobile tongue stroke firmly and unhesitatingly over his opening. He exhaled on a moan when he felt himself being licked, felt that wicked tongue swirl around the puckered skin. 

“You need to be quiet,” Harry lifted his head to say. “Sound carries at night. Can you be quiet, or do I have to stop?”

Ron didn’t think he was up to a cohesive response, so he just shook his head. He felt one of Harry’s hands stroke his hip. 

“Good boy,” he whispered, and then those lips were back, and Ron left one hand clutching the cold smooth marble, and the other he lifted to his lips and bit hard on his index knuckle as Harry’s tongue pressed forward.

Harry was ruthless. He pressed and pushed and stoked and stabbed until the tight muscle guarding Ron’s entrance began to ease, and then he pressed inside as far as his reach allowed. When he sealed his mouth over the puckered flesh and began to suck, Ron’s whole long body shuddered, and his heavy, aching cock bobbed between his spread thighs. He didn’t remember spreading his legs, but they were caught now in the fabric of his jeans and could go no further. He found himself pushing involuntarily back into the press of Harry’s mouth as he began to thrust into him with that firm, mobile tongue, and whimpered in spite of his promise to remain quiet. 

With one swirling curl, Harry withdrew his tongue but Ron scarcely had time to mourn it’s loss before he felt himself being breached my two of Harry’s strong fingers. He threw his head back, but managed to restrain himself from crying out when they hooked and stroked unerringly over his prostate. His legs began to tremble, and he felt Harry’s other arm slide around his waist as he continued to press with his fingers even as he leaned over Ron’s back.

“You like that?” Harry asked harshly, the pads of his fingers rolling over the walnut sized gland. Ron whimpered as everything inside of him seemed to flush with heat. He nodded, his breathing ragged. “Feel good?” He nodded desperately again, even as Harry withdrew then re-entered with his three middle fingers. It burned, that stretch, but not in a bad way. Harry must have murmured a spell for lube, for the fingers slid on a slick glide, but Ron hadn’t heard it and now, he couldn’t hear anything but the blood roaring in his own ears. Harry began to move his hand in and out in a regular rhythmic motion and Ron pressed back into each inward thrust, wanting it, wanting more. 

“Harry,” he gasped, “please.”

“Yeah?” Harry said darkly, leaning over his back. “Please, what?”

“Oh, gods,” Ron rasped. “Please…”

“Please, what, Ron,” Harry crooned, his voice near Ron’s ear, his fingers curling wickedly. “What is it you want?”

“You,” Ron reached back and fisted his hand in Harry’s robes next to his hip. “You, I want you.”

“You want me to what, Ron?” Harry teased, and Ron growled.

“Stop mucking about and fuck me,” he hissed, and Harry chuckled even as he whispered, ‘yes, sir.’

Ron felt the fingers withdraw, felt Harry’s hands brush his bare arse as he opened his slacks, heard the metallic jingle of his belt as his trousers were pushed aside. And then there was no thought, no sound, only the sensation of that thick, round head pressing against him, Harry’s hand coming to his hip to steady him, and the slow, dark slide into pain and pleasure so complete that he couldn’t stop the low moan that reverberated from his throat. 

Harry’s cock was not as long as his, but it was much thicker, and he doubted that it would ever be easy to take. Even with careful preparation and copious amounts of lube, it hurt at first, every time. But it was an exquisite pain, and Ron reveled in it, lived for the moments when he felt Harry breaching him. Harry was always careful, always took him slowly, but even so his body shrieked its complaints. His legs began to shake, and his stomach trembled even as he regulated his breathing and pushed back against the invasion. 

It took a while for him to be fully seated. Short, careful strokes followed by pauses that made Ron’s nerves scream, but finally, __finally_ >[bjb2] ,_ Harry’s hip bones were pressed into Ron’s arse, and he was as deep inside of him as he could go.

“Yeah?” Harry asked breathlessly against Ron’s ear. Slowly, Ron nodded.

“Yeah,” he answered hoarsely, and Harry grunted his approval. And then he began to move.

Slowly at first, but with growing intensity, he thrust in and out of Ron’s tight arse. The first few strokes had Ron gagging on the burn, but gradually that faded until it was a minor discomfort in the face of the growing pleasure. The arm around Ron’s waist tightened as the force of his thrusts grew, and Ron now braced both arms on the dim shape of the dirty marble before him, fingers pressing hard into the unforgiving cold stone. Harry brought his other arm around Ron, his hand curling around Ron’s cock. His erection had flagged somewhat in the face of the pain, but soon Harry’s emphatic strokes had it rising again. Ron felt Harry’s forehead press his nape, heard words of adoration being muttered into his skin, but he couldn’t make sense of them. Nothing made sense but the slap of flesh on flesh as Harry drove into him, the hard quick jerk of Harry’s hand on his prick, the large presence of Harry behind him, his chest full and hard as it undulated against his back. 

“Gods, Ron,” he rasped harshly. “You’re so…fucking…tight…I don’t think…I…”

That was the moment when Harry tightened the arm around Ron’s waist and lifted him, dragging him up until they were both upright on their knees. The change of angle had Harry battering Ron’s prostate on each emphatic thrust, and a low keening built in Ron’s throat as his balls drew up and his body began to quake. Harry’s hand grew rougher, more demanding on Ron’s arched cock and his thrusts became wilder. Ron arched his back, arms lifting, hands fisting in that black hair as he held on and Harry fucked him and jerked him and reduced him to a writhing mass of over-sensitized nerve endings.

“Close, Ron,” Harry gasped against the side of his head. “Can you…come? Can you…come now? Now, Ron. I need to…now, goddammit, now!”

And as if in answer to his demands, Ron’s body convulsed and his cock jerked in Harry’s hand, and he was painting the side of the tomb and the dead grass with exquisitely pleasurable streams of pearly white, and Harry was shuddering behind him, thrusting hard once, then once again, mouth open on a silent scream. But Ron wasn’t silent: as his orgasm spread liquid fire over his body, his keening grew to a full throated, agonized wail that echoed through the darkness, bouncing off of the cold granite and marble stones. 

“What the bloody fuck was that?”

The voice, high pitched with fear, carried in the darkness and the two men behind the tomb, still shuddering in release, froze. Instinctively Harry lifted his hand and clamped it over Ron’s mouth, cutting off the sound and his other arm clamped tight around his chest, holding his heaving body pressed against his own. They both went completely still, fighting to silence their ragged breathing. Harry looked over Ron’s broad shoulder, and saw two shadowy figures standing stark and still not far from the ruined church.

“I don’t know,” another voice answered. They sounded young, out of breath, and terribly frightened. “Jesus, I don’t like this.”

“Let’s get out of here,” the first boy said, edging backwards. 

“What about the Death Eaters?” His companion whispered harshly. “They said to wait for them here.”

“Fuck ‘em” the first boy said. “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to do this.”

“But, maybe it was nothing. An animal, or something.”

“Did that sound like an animal to you?” The first boy’s voice was rising hysterically. Careful not to hurt Ron as he disengaged from him, Harry reached into his sleeve and withdrew his wand, pointed it towards the two figures, and muttered something beneath his breath. Instantly, the fog that was swirling around the headstones began to gather and form into an undulating figure that seemed to lift from the ground and take an almost human shape. It writhed and twisted with unnatural grace, and there was just enough light to see the two slender figures begin to back away. A hollow, ghostly voice began to moan, seemingly coming from the wraith.

“Be gone,” the specter whispered, the carrying voice deep, gravelly. Frightening. “Do not desecrate this hallowed ground. Be gone!” And with another subtle wave of Harry’s wand, it flew at the boys with a keening wail, very like the one they’d first heard, and they fled before it, screaming hysterically as they stumbled through the gate and into the dark. 

Ron fell forward onto his hands and knees, his head hanging between his shoulders, his back shuddering. It took Harry leaning around him, his hand reassuring on his broad back, to realize that Ron was laughing. A smile began to pull at his own lips as Ron collapsed still further, rolling onto his side, his laughter echoing through the cemetery. Harry sat beside him, watching him laugh, his own lips quirking at the sound of the unreserved hilarity. When Ron was gasping for breath, his humor winding down, he reached over and gripped Harry’s thigh.

“That,” he wheezed, “was bloody brilliant.”

Harry’s grin ripened as he reached down and closed and zipped his slacks. 

“Pull up your pants before something bites you,” he said fondly, and Ron rolled to his back and arched his hips to yank his jeans back up around his hips, fastening them, but he was still laughing. 

“My God, I’m betting they pissed themselves.” He finally chuckled, lying on his back as he tried to catch his breath, his hand spread on his belly. “What do you think that was all about? Them being here, I mean. They weren’t Death Eaters.”

“Probably just some sort of dare,” Harry answered. “Junior Death Eaters,” he scoffed, shaking his head. “Well, those two won’t come back.”

Ron laughed again, then sat up, lifting his arms towards Harry in impersonation of the specter. 

“Do not desecrate this hallowed ground,” he intoned ominously, then broke up again. “The only ones desecrating this ground were _us_.” He poked Harry gently in the middle of his chest, and Harry caught his hand, pulling him in. Ron’s laughter faded, but his smile didn’t.

“The only one desecrating this ground,” Harry said warmly, kissing Ron quickly, “was _you_. We’ll let them try to figure out what sort of fertilizer caused a green spot just there when the grass comes up in the spring.” Ron laughed again, and Harry pulled him into his arms. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” He stood, and lifting the other man firmly against his chest, turned on the spot.

With a soft sound like the backfire of a car, the two entwined figures disappeared.

 

 

 

 

 

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[](http://astele.co.uk/TheQuidditchPitch/Chapter/Details/7370#_msoanchor_1)

 


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